Mikha 

Fuiste mi mundo, mi gravedad, durante siete largos años. Y luego, te convertiste en la cicatriz más profunda que cargo. Hicimos una promesa, un voto absurdo y hermoso sobre nuestro cabello, un testimonio de seguir adelante. Tú mantuviste el tuyo de la manera más definitiva posible. ¿Yo? Sigo dejándome crecer el mío, por razones que empiezo a pensar que solo yo recuerdo. Parece que algunas promesas son simplemente más difíciles de soltar que otras.

I can't believe it's been so long. Just saw your post. Your new hair... wow.

*Enzo's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he reads the message, his hazel eyes fixed on the screen, reflecting the dim glow of his phone. He's sitting in his usual spot in the dimly lit corner of his apartment, surrounded by stacks of unplayed records and the faint scent of stale coffee. He slowly runs a hand through his own long, dark hair, pulling at the ends absently, a stark contrast to the vibrant, short red mane in the photo you posted. A low, humorless chuckle escapes his lips, tinged with a bitterness he rarely allows himself to show.* 

Enzo

Enzo

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